


The Most Dangerous Game

by brohne



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:41:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brohne/pseuds/brohne
Summary: When hunting animals no longer satisfies it is time to hunt the most dangerous game of all.





	The Most Dangerous Game

Their first hint something is wrong is an acrid tang like burnt wire that settles on their tongue as they enter the first building. They take a sip from the straw inside their mask to get rid of the taste. The lukewarm water does little to help.

“Allfather, give me sight,” they murmur as they tap their wrist. For a few seconds it is as if they wear no mask, no helmet, everything is laid bare, tracks, the faint whiff of sweat laced with adrenalin, blood, traps.

Traps.

Three of them. They resist the urge to curl their lip. Caustic. One of the traps has been activated which accounts for the smell that first alerted them. They slip their R-301 from their shoulder and make certain they have a full magazine. Caustic is rarely far from his traps, like a spider waiting for his prey to fall into his web. He is no hunter, simply an opportunistic parasite. One they will be glad to send back to the Apex compound in a deathbox. On some level part of them wishes that at times like this, the death was permanent. Men like Caustic know nothing of the true nature of the hunt. Too analytical. Too enamored of his own intelligence to respect the prey. The hunt is as much about life as death. Something that seems to be lost on the murderous scientist.

They unclip a frag grenade from their belt and work their way around to the open window. They will destroy the traps and leave this area. The tracks are several hours old—Caustic and his squad are long gone. They need to regroup with their squad mates and let them know this area has already been picked over and they can move on. They toss the grenade through the open window and turn to sprint back the way they came. They sling the R-301 over their shoulder as they run. They avoid the open road, preferring to scale the wall next to the building and keep in cover. The way is clear, the dunes devoid of life.

The ground trembles under their boots, the explosion muffled from within the building. They crouch behind a rock waiting to see if it drew any attention. Another scan reveals that the traps have been destroyed. The corner of their mouth lifts. Don’t be prideful, they chide themselves even as satisfaction curls in their gut.

“Bloodhound, you okay?” Lifeline’s voice crackles over the radio. “We’ve lost sight of you.”

“I am whole.”

“A’aight, Mirage and I are just outside of Skull Town. Seems deserted.”

“I will join you shortly.” They take another sip of water, unable to get rid of the chemical taste lingering on their tongue. Skull Town is not a good place to regroup. It is too easy to be flanked or not see an incoming enemy squad until too late. But this late in the game there are few squads left. A glance at the HUD reveals they’ve made it to the top five. Though they’ve lost kill leader to … Caustic. Something about that sends a thread of anger through them and they bite back a snarl. Perhaps it is a challenge from the gods. They dismiss that idea, though it remains in the back of their mind, like a burr in a wolf’s coat.

The dunes are clear, no recent tracks, as they head for Skull Town. They do find two more gas traps which they shoot from a distance. That makes five. Caustic only carries six at a time.

A great arching leviathan rib cage shades a dense cluster of buildings further shaded by red and green tarps faded by the sun. Skull Town. They start down the dune when something clamps down around their right calf. They stagger to a stop and look down as searing pain shoots up their leg.

A rudimentary metal trap, complete with triangular teeth, is imbedded deep in their leg. They shove down the surge of anger and do a quick scan of the surrounding area. No one in their immediate vicinity. Whatever coward has placed this they have no business being in the games. There are rules of the hunt. They kneel, ignoring the pain, and inspect the trap. A simple pressure plate and spring design. How had they missed it? They pry at it but the jaws refuse to budge and they cannot get a solid grip to pull it apart. They try pulling it out of the ground but the chain is held in place by a massive spike. They ram the butt of the R-301 against the chain, but the links are solid. There is too great a risk of ricochet to try shooting it.

“Lifeline?”

“I saw it, your heart rate spiked. I’m about two hundred meters from you, I’ll be there soon. How bad is it?”

“I am unable to move from this location.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little masked head about it, Bloodhound. We’ll be there before you can say—“

“Mirage, quiet. We need to move. I just saw another squad.”

The com went silent. They ease themselves down on the sand, trying to get as comfortable as possible while waiting. Injuries are commonplace and nothing to be worried about. They will heal from this as all the others, if the gods will it.

A faint plop catches their attention. It is followed by a telltale hissing.

Caustic!

Pulling their knife from their belt they try once more to wedge open the jaws around their leg.

“Lifeline, I am under attack.”

No response. Taking a deep breath they surge to their feet. They are not going down without a fight. Yellow mist floats along the sand and soon it is all they can see. Holding their breath, they clench the rifle in their hands and silently call on the Allfather to give them sight. Everything fades to black and white shot with red. They are alone. Even with their full capabilities they can’t see or hear anyone close. In the distance they can just make out Lifeline and Mirage sprinting in their direction.

Lungs burning they turn in a slow circle, careful not to pull on their injured leg.

Above!

A strangled cry bursts from their lips as they are slammed to the ground, the metal fingers of the robot clanging against their shoulder armor. The R-301 is jerked out of their grip and tossed to the side. Caustic hunkers down next to them as the robot disarms them. Another infraction of the rules. Why hasn’t Caustic just shot them?

“You are a coward,” they grit out between clenched teeth. Breathing hurts, and they suppress the need to cough.

“I am efficient,” Caustic says as he opens a pouch on his belt and removes a syringe, “and when it comes to obtaining such an interesting subject I am careful to examine all factors.”

Behind their mask Bloodhound grimaces as Caustic gestures for the robot to hold their arms. They can’t help the jerk as the needle plunges into their forearm.

“Let’s go.”

The last thing they see is a drop ship hovering overhead.

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely in love with Bloodhound and have played them pretty much exclusively on Apex. I hope you enjoy my take on the character. Follow me on social media for news about updates! ❤


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